Catching Shooting Stars
by The December Project
Summary: IchiRuki. Another collection of fluff infused one shots and drabbles. 18: Strawberry Shampoo, 19: Stuck.
1. Smile

Smile

_Date Written:_ 7-25-06  
_Date Uploaded: _7-29-06  
_Last Editing: 7-26-06  
__Rating:_ G  
_Spoiler Warnings: _none  
_Author: _April  
_Additional Notes:_ Not the best of ways to start us off, but I like stream-of-consciousness fics. And there is a little hint of action at the end. This is the first piece of Bleach fan fiction I'm actually releasing, but I've been a fan of the series for a long time. We've all agreed that we're keeping towards the Rukia/Ichigo vibe. Enjoy.

.x.x.x.x.

It wasn't a scowl. No… not quite.

Rukia pondered exactly what it was as she examined his face. It was tilted slightly away from her, resting lazily on his hand, supported by the desk. He wouldn't notice her… they'd been out too late the night before with a particularly nasty Hollow. He was exhausted. So she'd taken the opportunity to study him carefully, this man whose fate seemed intertwined with hers.

She could make her eyes focus on the teacher, anyway. They kept wandering back to him… Her thoughts kept drifting back to that look on his face at the very moment she was examining it.

_Not a scowl…_ It wasn't an active reaction as it would have been on a normal person. There was nothing making him angry. Well, how long could he hold a grudge about the bunny stickers on his desk? That couldn't be it… It had been there before. Since before they had met.

It just seemed as if it had always been there, carefully etched into his face by the years and the experiences. So that it wasn't a glare, a scowl, a grimace… it was more of a… mask. His default, his protection. She half-frowned at the idea. _Ichigo_…

But maybe part of her liked it a little… He always wore that look, but there was the occasional circumstance in which he would smile. The fact that each one of these occasions was so rare made her cherish the seconds in time when he would drop his guard to let through that light.

She knew each one by heart. There was the grin, the way he would almost try to hide it, but his firmly set eyebrows would lift and the corner of his mouth seemed to twitch in a way she found most amusing. There was the smirk, an arrogant condescension when he knew he was right or he was just plain being cocky. She loved hating that look…

He had genuinely let himself smile only a few times, and never outright to her. She would catch them out of the corner of her eye when he thought she wasn't looking.

They were the best of all. She could almost see the thought stir first- _smile._ Slowly, the acidic glare would neutralize and his eyes would light up. At first it would be clumsy, as if in the time between he had forgotten just how to, but then it would emerge. His lips would dissolve from the frown into a grin, soft and unguarded. And he would smile. Really and truly. These were glimpses of his lost childlike innocence, a pure and candid look at Ichigo, untroubled by doubts or fears. And each one she remembered distinctly.

She could remember where she was, what the air felt like, what _she_ felt like… It shouldn't have mattered. She couldn't explain it. But she felt different when she knew he was happy.

His dark eyes shot back toward her, that scowl deepening. She didn't look away. Instead, something strange came over her, something she might regret later, but had to do in that moment anyway. She smiled at him. Out of class she would get a confused glower and a vindictive 'what!'. But here, he was caught off guard.

Somewhere down the hall, a bell rang, signaling the end of the class.

He looked somewhat surprised by her reaction, and his eyes questioned her motives with no degree of concealed suspicion. She stood quietly, the tiny grin never leaving her face, and whispered the words barely loud enough to hear. "Smile, Ichigo." And she walked out of the room.


	2. Kurosakisan

Kurosaki-san

_Date Written:_ 7-27-06  
_Date Uploaded: _8-01-06  
_Last Editing: _7-31-06  
_Rating:_ G  
_Spoiler Warnings: _Ep. 8/9 (Ch. 23ish? I don't remember.)  
_Author: _April  
_Additional Notes:_ This one took forever… I wrote it in an hour or so, then I spent about three days editing it cause he was out of character and she was too angsty and there was too much fluff and… argh. I think I like the way it turned out, anyway.  
P.S.: Yay, cookie!

.x.x.x.x.

June the seventeenth. The day that lived in notoriety. The day she'd died. Ichigo had thought to go home with the rest of his family, but the sunset from the hill cast long, lonely shadows that made him feel so empty that going back to his loudmouthed father was the last thing he wanted to do.

It might have seemed more depressing to stay in the lonesome, silent cemetery, but he needed some time to be alone. He felt all the more relief that Rukia had promised to keep out of his hair for the day. He wasn't even sure where she'd gotten off to, but he hadn't seen her since the previous night.

Even in the mid-afternoon, the sky was dark. The air was heavy with moisture, he was just praying it wouldn't come down before he'd finished his business here, whatever that was.

He'd left his mother's headstone to wander for a while, but he felt himself inexplicably drawn back. He took the long way, so as to avoid being spotted. When he returned, just out of sight, he heard the first words.

"Good afternoon, Kurosaki-san." They were soft and unsure, but undeniably serious. He looked out from his hiding place slowly.

…

Rukia put a hand to the cool smoothness of the headstone. It had taken her a while to get up enough confidence to speak. It was like standing in front of a human being… a rather imposing human being. Rukia wondered how strong this woman must have been, to leave her very imprint in reality after she'd passed away seven years ago.

Of course, Ichigo's descriptions painted a much gentler portrait of the woman. She figured that either Kurosaki Masaki was looking out for her little boy or she herself was being far too paranoid for her own good.

Ichigo certainly thought the world of his mother. She could now recognize, at least in some small part, how he felt. She inhaled sharply and looked back at the grave.

"Kurosaki-san, I know we haven't met before. I apologize. I thought… Ichigo would rather be alone with you." She stopped to think. Last year… in the rain… He had fought for his honor… for his mother's honor. And he had fought well. "You really did… raise him well. But I'm sure you knew that." She rambled a bit, wringing a modest bouquet of flowers in her small hands.

…

He was eavesdropping on a very private conversation and as much as he knew it, he had to hear. What business did Rukia have with his mother? She'd rarely even brought the topic up after last year's fiasco. He sat silently behind a tree, trying to picture how it should have gone.

Kurosaki Masaki would nod understandingly and smile at Rukia. In his mind, the two would have gotten along perfectly. Rukia could be polite and cordial if she put her mind to it. But Masaki would love her either way, faking nice or all out annoying, bossy and dramatic. The two would talk and laugh and swap embarrassing stories about him doing stupid things.

He rolled his eyes as if that was just what they were doing now. He could hear it now: _Mom, you're embarrassing me! _Then it was gone, leaving him feeling strangely empty. Rukia began again.

…

"We really depend on him. He protects your family and… all of us. He's gotten so much stronger. Arisawa-san can't even touch him anymore." She laughed, but it sounded almost sad. Ichigo cringed out of her sight, remembering the days Tatsuki could floor him in seconds. He was glad that at least in that sense, she wasn't profaning him in front of his mother.

The wind shifted away, carrying the next words with it.

"But that isn't what I came to talk to you about. Well… it is about Ichigo. I haven't told anyone yet, but I think you should know." She fidgeted uncomfortably, looking at the grave. She knelt in front of it.

…

Her words were too quiet for Ichigo to pick up and her face had turned away, but he could just see the slightest quiver in her arm. When she stopped again and backed away, she finally looked calm. And there was a smile on her face.

He'd never seen that smile on Rukia before. It was real, honest, with no pretense of impressing anyone. It seemed to soften the lines that had been recently betraying her exhaustion and it made her blue eyes dance. Ichigo gulped harder than he really had a right to. It was Rukia… Rukia.

…

"I just… thank you, Kurosaki-san. For letting me know him. I promise I'll take care of him." She smiled, genuinely this time. She placed the flowers (which Ichigo realized looked suspiciously like those from a neighbor's garden) on the ground in front of the grave and walked away, down the path.

He trailed behind her, just out of sight for a while. If she knew he'd been spying on her… well, there were parts of his body that he still needed for a while. After a few minutes, she settled into an easier step, and her lips moved to a song in her head.

"Yo, Rukia!" Ichigo stepped out from behind a tree. She looked startled at first, but she relaxed enough to acknowledge him.

"I thought you went home." She said hesitantly.

He didn't respond, but joined her in walking back down the hill. "She'd like you."

"Who, Ichigo?" She played dumb, worried he'd somehow heard. He glanced at her soberly and she took the hint. "Why do you say that?"

_Because _I_ do, stupid._ He shrugged noncommittally.

"I think she'd be proud of you." Rukia was refusing to look at him. All of a sudden, her shoes had become the most interesting thing in the world to her.

"Maybe." He softened slightly. Something possessed him to touch her shoulder. "Tha-"

Unfortunately, Rukia was caught off guard and ended up punching him in a panic. After all, since when did Ichigo _touch_ people? She managed an apology through her laughter.

But, still…

He'd actually… _willingly_… touched her. He was warming up to her, at least a little more. Rukia turned one last time to the cemetery with a smile as Ichigo stood up with a few favorite 'nicknames' for her.

"Thank you, Kurosaki-san."


	3. They Shine For You

They Shine for You

_Date Written:_ 7-28-06  
_Date Uploaded: _7--06  
_Last Editing: 7-31-06  
__Rating:_ G  
_Series:_ Bleach  
_Spoiler Warnings: _none  
_Author: _Lyssa (Editing by April)  
_Additional Notes:_ Well, nothing to report here. Still having trouble writing IC. Maybe it's just me… I'm trying to bend the characters and the script, so hopefully we'll meet in the middle somewhere.

In other news: are these sickeningly sweet or what? I can barely stand myself. Someone get me a vacuum… Mine's already clogged with fluff.

.x.x.x.x.

The stars had rarely been so bright. The city lights often drowned them, even on the clearest of nights. But in the ten minutes they'd sat there silently, the hum of the city seemed to fade into the crushing black silence of night. There was nothing but the stars, winking cheerfully in the sky. There was no one but them, sitting on the hill in amicable quiet.

Ichigo had started out there. He'd come for some peace and quiet, but when Rukia had shown up he figured he'd better give up on his delusions of tranquility. But she just sat there beside him. Not a word was uttered. None were necessary.

She'd always assumed that it would come in some crushing realization of fact, or at least a dramatic declaration of love, like in her manga. Alas, there was nothing of the sort. The truth seemed to weave itself gracefully into the rhythm of their lives, recognized by everyone around them before they finally acknowledged it.

This detail became a reality, one that was accepted without being taken for granted. The knowledge made things easier. Now she told him the things she wanted off of her chest. He scowled a little less and smiled a little more. There were fewer secrets and more moments of quiet understanding, as the one they found themselves in.

"Pretty." He muttered quietly, fidgeting as teenage boys often did.

She glanced up at him, her eyes hiding a mischievous glint. In a different moment, she would easily take the compliment that may or may not have been directed at the sky. She thought better of it. "Mmm."

He tried to remember seeing the stars in Soul Society. He wondered if they were the same. "Ichigo…" He glanced to the side, where she was wringing her hands. They were close, the heat between them making the night a bit more bearable. He was distracted by the fact.

"Ichigo!" She was a bit more insistent. Why he didn't answer he wasn't sure. Maybe things had gotten to quiet.

"Fool, pay attention when I'm telling you something!"

He sat back casually on his elbows. "I guess you deafened me earlier screaming at Kon."

"Ichigo…" She gave him a pathetic look that beat his 'cute' nerve into submission.

He relented for a moment. "What?" Rukia looked victorious.

"Ichigo, I'm cold." She announced. He studied her a moment. She shivered a bit and there was an almost imperceptible tinge of blue in her lips. He rolled his eyes and removed his jacket. It landed unceremoniously on her head.

He watched with a hint of a smile as she fought her way into his jacket. He silently decided that it was flattering on her, even if it seemed to swallow her. She finished and inched closer, so they just skimmed when either breathed. When he didn't say anything, she settled into a comfortable position.

"Which one is yours?" She asked quietly. A look of complete and utter confusion answered. She smiled, never looking at him. "Renji always said that that one was his." She pointed to the North Star. "Because it was the biggest and the brightest."

Ichigo shrugged. "That one." He nodded toward one on the horizon, eager to drop the ensuing philosophical debate.

She answered with a thoughtful noise. "Then that one's mine too."

Did this girl have any sense of possession? His closet, his friends… He felt the smooth surface of the jacket. They were even sharing clothes. "You can't have the same star as me." He answered, suddenly defensive over the entire matter. It was _his _star after all.

"I can too. I like that one."

He sighed in defeat. He just wasn't in the mood for arguing with her. He decided that she would pay tomorrow. Tonight he'd just have his peace. "Fine." He said shortly. She smiled appreciatively.

"Then that one is ours."


	4. The Significance of Juice Boxes

The Significance of Juice Boxes

_Date Written:_ 8-11-06  
_Date Uploaded: 8_-11-06  
_Last Editing: 8-11-06  
__Rating:_ PG  
_Spoiler Warnings: _none really  
_Author: _Lyssa  
_Additional Notes:_ This was written in one hour between chapters of my new fic, but I like it. Of course, I may be slightly drowsy considering it's 1:30 am. It's written as a parallel, which I've done some experimenting with before.  
Editing will be done later. For now, it's staying short and sweet.

.x.x.x.x.

She was different. Not bad different, just… not like she was before. His world had lost some of its mystery. Now, he could take her out of the house without being interrogated about CD players, sports bras and the newest candy at the checkout. She had mastered some of it. She hadn't broken or otherwise annihilated anything (unintentionally) in two weeks. A new world record.

It was strange, but… it made him a little bit sad. It seemed like the one thing she needed him for- to explain the unknowns of every day life to her. That was where he fit into her life. Now, once again, he'd become… unnecessary. He hated feeling helpless. He hated watching her become independent. He hated that he didn't worry when she went to Inoue's house alone.

He didn't have to anymore. He sighed.

It prompted a glance from the girl sitting beside him quietly. Dark blue eyes examined him quickly. "What?" She half-demanded. That was Rukia. It wasn't so much an expression of concern as a command to know exactly what he was thinking.

He shrugged. "Nothing."

The picnic basket was long forgotten, laying on the hill, a casualty of Rukia's insatiable appetite for all things edible. The blanket was still covered in crumbs from the massacre. Only one thing had escaped unscathed.

Rukia opened the basket and withdrew the pair of juice boxes, passing one to Ichigo. He looked at it for a long moment, confirming her suspicions. These were a reminder of the good old days, when he didn't have to worry about anything more than the occasional hollow and her nagging him.

She knew that he was different too. Not bad different… just not like he was before. Her job had lost some of its mystery. Now, He'd figured out how to work the business of being a shinigami. And, hesitant as she would be to admit it, he was damn good at it. He hadn't severely screwed up or otherwise required her help in two weeks. A new world record.

It was so odd, but… it made her sad. Not much- she was Kuchiki Rukia, doer of all things best. But it seemed like the one thing he needed her for- to explain the details of being a shinigami, from politics to practice. That was her responsibility. One she liked. She didn't have much left to teach, so she hoarded those last insignificant pieces of advice. Once they were gone, he wouldn't need her anymore.

She hated feeling useless. She hated watching her student surpass his teacher. She hated that she could sleep through a hollow attack and he'd easily take care of things. She didn't have the luxury of worrying about him.

He took care of himself. She sighed.

Rukia watched as he poked the straw through the top effortlessly. She looked at the one in her hands, feeling something churn in her stomach. "Rukia?" He looked at her hard in the face she had named 'Ichigo concern' because it was unlike anyone else's. More guarded, but somehow more genuine. She decided quickly on her course of action.

The juice box was thrust at him hard. He blinked at it, hovering in front of his face. "Open it." She demanded quietly. He blinked again.

"Open it." This time, she was more insistent.

"Don't you know by now how to…" He tapered off into nothingness, but reached out for the drink. He fumbled with the straw for a split second, lost in the nostalgia.

"Here, let me help with…" She took it back and stabbed the straw through.

He smiled with her, almost self-satisfied. She grinned back and the silent pact was made.

And one and a half minutes later, the juice boxes were entirely forgotten.


	5. Muse

Muse

_Date Written:_ 8-12-06  
_Date Uploaded: 8_-12-06  
_Last Editing: 8-12-06  
__Rating:_ G  
_Spoiler Warnings: _none  
_Author: _April (edited by Lyssa)  
_Additional Notes:_ Self explanatory. Consider reviewing, por favor!

.x.x.x.x.

She's gotten better at it. Her drawings have become more like art than scribbles. Her lines are straight and her colors are neat. And she has a new favorite subject.

She draws him.

She begins with the line on his face, from his forehead and down across his jaw. She has mastered this line by watching him as he sleeps. She practices it every night by the glow of the moon. She has convinced herself that he'll never know about it.

She moves on to his face. There is often a scowl there, though she sees past the obvious anger and into what causes him to make such a face. She has mastered these features by watching as he yells back at her when she makes a mistake. She isn't angry at him for doing it anymore. It's for the sake of art. She has convinced herself that he'll never see these perfect lines.

She continues on his shoulders and arms, strong and broad, but not overpowering. She has mastered this curve by watching him sit alone, as he often likes to at night, staring out the window to a place she'll never see. There, he is peaceful, his body relaxed. Better than during the day when she can sense the tightness in his back as he folds his arms defensively. She has convinced herself that he'll never let her see him like that intentionally.

She moves down to his body, powerful but sleek, like a cat's with its feline grace. She has mastered this smooth profile by watching him fight. The way he twists and jumps, the way he runs and seems to glide. She thinks it is a more perfect art than she'll ever capture on paper. She's convinced herself that thinking that doesn't mean anything.

She goes on to his legs, almost too long, but never gangly, always just right- long in stride but carefully placed. She has mastered these limbs by watching him walk beside her. He takes care to shorten his step to allow her to keep up, but he'd never admit it. She's convinced herself that it's only more convenient for him when her feet keep in time with his.

She tries to draw his hair. It is often disproportionate, but perfectly disheveled as usual. She hasn't mastered this yet, and that is why he can't know. It has to be perfect before she thinks about showing him her project. She's convinced herself that someday she may actually consider allowing him to see this secret obsession.

She started drawing for him. It had never meant much before- a bunny here, a flower there. She didn't improve over 150 years. Because there was no inspiration but a perfect flower or an ever-smiling bunny. Who would have thought that her muse would come damaged and packaged in a scowl?

She hasn't shown him yet. She's only revealed the old ones, because she's afraid he'll think that the new ones are strange. Who draws only one other person? He would think less of her if she showed him. And they aren't perfect yet. Not just yet.

Besides, she likes the bad drawings. They prompt him to say something stupid. Then she can almost justifiably punch him, kick him… touch him. Just for a second. And she can capture that feeling on paper, as she's captured it in her heart.

She hasn't shown him yet, but that doesn't mean that he hasn't seen. He knows what she does when he sleeps, when he yells, when he sits, when he fights, when he walks… He won't break her confidence by pointing them out. She's let him wait until he's ready. He's fine with letting her wait.

But she hasn't been noticing that he's begun to watch her… and locked carefully in the bottom of his desk there are a few pictures of his own.


	6. Some Kind of Angel

Some Kind of Angel

_Date Written:_ 2-24-07  
_Date Uploaded: _ReUploaded 04-24-07_  
Last Editing: _2-25-07  
_Rating:_ PG  
_Series:_ Bleach  
_Spoiler Warnings:_ Up to episode 17 or 18, just before the Soul Society stuff begins.  
_Author:_ April  
_Additional Notes: _My name is April and I am a parallel structure addict. –scattered applause- Thanks. This was written in about ten minutes, edited in one.

.x.x.x.x.

He wasn't quite sure what she was.

She'd fallen into his life like a bomb that exploded on impact. What was once his calm and quiet (if somewhat dysfunctional) life had become a war zone.

And she seemed to be continuously throwing grenades randomly into the air. Like two weeks ago when she ripped apart his room looking for a white marker. Yes, a white marker. ("Fool," she'd cried. "How can anyone create a proper Chappy without white?" He'd handed her the white out as a substitute and within minutes she was so dizzy from the fumes that she nearly fell out his window.)

She was some kind of commando whose sole mission was to disturb the peace.

She'd stepped into his life like the melodramatic heroine of a thrift store novel. She turned his stable (if somewhat distant) relationships into a million questions of loyalty and love. She forced him to feel.

And she seemed to be constantly dropping more little emotional surprises on him. Like last week when she'd quietly observed that Inoue appeared to need some cheering up. ("Umm… Is everything okay, Inoue?" He wasn't sure, so he glanced back at Rukia who was shooting him a less than conspicuous thumbs-up. Inoue had proceeded to break down and babble on for no less than an hour about the agony of burnt lima bean pie.)

She was some kind of therapist whose sole mission was to make him a decent human being.

She'd skipped into his life like an innocent baby, wide eyed and curious. What was once his normal (if mundane) existence had become a new exploration into his own world.

And she seemed to constantly find something new to be baffled, intrigued or otherwise moved by. Like two days ago when she'd decided to take the bus instead of walking to school. ("Bye, Ichigo." She waved as the enormous yellow monster rolled away. "Wait a minute, what are you doing?" He'd demanded. "That bus doesn't go to school!" He'd chased her for a mile and a half before the bus stopped to let her off. They were two hours late.)

She was some kind of child whose sole mission was to discover everything about everything over the span of two months.

She walked out of his life in silence. She left it in ruins, not because she had been there destroying it, but because he realized that without her, life was just as it had been before she'd come. That simply wasn't good enough any more.

And missing her was worse each day. Like today when he realized that she was really gone. And if he didn't do something, she was going to be gone forever. (His ribs ached, his whole body felt broken, but mostly he'd shattered his pride, and perhaps a piece of his heart. "I'm going to save you." He spoke into the air. No one answered.)

She was some kind of angel that had made his life worth living.

And that made her life all the more worth saving.


	7. Crickets

Crickets 

_Date Written:_ 08-10-06  
_Date Uploaded: _04-23-07  
_Last Editing: _04-19-07  
_Rating:_ PG-13  
_Series:_ Bleach  
_Spoiler Warnings:_ None.  
_Author:_ Izzi  
_Additional Notes: _This is the result of forty-six hours without sleep. Try it sometime. I keep forgetting where I am…

.x.x.x.x.

"Ichigo…" The sound is small, almost frightened. The squeaky innocence makes him open one eye to glance at the girl standing over him.

"Yuzu, it's probably just thunder. Go back to-"

"Ichigo…" She is obviously correcting him. Her voice takes on a slightly lower note. She still sounds like the victim of a horrible helium-filled balloon accident. He rolls over to look at her impatiently.

"Oi, Rukia, why the hell are you waking me up?" He's groggy, the drag in his voice tells her that loud and clear. She kneels so their faces are at the same level, then whispers furtively in his ear. He shivers as her warm breath tickles his cheek.

"I think there's a cricket in my closet."

He is awake, but unsympathetic. "So?"

"So… kill it."

"It's not going to hurt you. Besides, you're-"

"I'm not going to sleep in there!" She stomps her foot in frustration. He rolls his eyes. "Get it!" She snaps, her voice rising again.

He sighs, resigned to his fate as cricket-catcher. He spends the next five minutes listening, then diving in the direction of the noise. All is quiet except for the thud of his skull against the closet door and far wall and a few four-letter words that have been reserved just for Rukia. He throws down the broom he's been using and fumes. "You're just going to have to deal with it. I'll get it tomorrow."

There is no answer.

"Rukia?" He begins hesitantly. "The hell are you doing?" She is curled up on the other side of the bed, tucking the blankets around herself. He notices her shivering a bit, and that fact alone earns her a little compassion. "_I'm_ not sleeping in the closet." He announces.

He thinks he might hear a mumbled 'good,' but it might just be his imagination.

He refuses to be kicked out of his own bed. So he crawls back in, shoving her over a few more inches. They adjust until Rukia's face is close to his chest, when she speaks, her stray hairs tickle him. "Ichigo… there aren't any bugs in your bed, right?"

He stops to think for a moment. "Well, not until you got in." She probably deserves it, but he ends up on the floor.

"Good night, Jerk."

He snuggles back into the warmth of the blankets. "Night, bitch."

The En- trrrrweeeeet… trrww- Squish.

"Goddamn cricket."

"Eww! Ichigo!"

"Now get outta my bed!"

The End


	8. Visiting Hours

Visiting Hours

_Date Written:_ 3-10-07  
_Date Uploaded: _04-24-07  
_Last Editing: 3_-25-07  
_Rating:_ PG  
_Series:_ Bleach  
_Spoiler Warnings:_ None.  
_Author:_ Lyssa  
_Additional Notes: _Just something quick. Typed up in about twenty minutes.

.x.x.x.x.

He felt alive. Mostly. Yes, definitely eighty to ninety percent alive. At least alive enough that he'd make it out of this damned hospital room. Which was more than he could say for the bastard hollow. Chew on that.

He was halfway through a self-satisfied smile when the door opened. All indications of cheer were aborted. The clocked blinked 12:00 am. They didn't even have the decency to set it for him. He rolled his eyes. It had been winking at him for at least six hours. He knew because he had counted every second. He hadn't slept a moment of it.

"Ichigo?"

His eyes roamed to the door. He knew that face. It seemed to cast an eerie glow across the room, not unlike the moonlight streaming through his window. He regarded her carefully.

"Wadda'ya want, Rukia?" It wasn't nearly harsh enough by his normal standards, but this late at night, it would have to do.

She immediately straightened, cold as night once more. "I wanted to make sure you didn't get off the hook so easily. There is far to much to do for you to be dying now."

"Did you really think one hollow was enough to get rid of me? And since when are you so paranoid?"

"What is that supposed to-"

"What time is it?"

She sighed, flipping open her phone. The artificial light illuminated her face for a brief moment. He caught tired, dull eyes and a slightly green color that he couldn't attribute to the mechanical device in her hands. "Four o'clock."

"Shouldn't you be… ya' know… sleeping?"

Enter defensive Rukia. "Who says I haven't been? I was just fine until the power went off and I thought I would-"

"Check on me? The power died hours ago." He looked slyly at her. Her pale arms were folded in annoyance, an expression akin to a pout on her face. So he'd interrupted her again… he was having trouble caring too much. Somehow, he thought he was entitled to a few interruptions after the previous night.

He didn't remember much. The damned phone beeping wildly at midnight. A hollow ripping apart his city again. Zangetsu. Rukia on the ground. The strange feeling of being morbidly proud that he'd taken out the hollow with him. Her cool hands. Then, nothing but searing pain and white lights.

"What happened?" He asked, unsure of his scattered memories.

"Baka. You saved both our lives and you can't even remember it?"

He sighed. He wasn't going to get a straight answer, he could tell already. She just shook her head and silently pulled up a chair to the side of his bed. Her eyes looked like blue flame in the dark. "I'll tell you tomorrow." She sat down and cradled her head in her arms on the stiff blue hospital blankets. He sat back.

The clock blinked midnight. They both finally slept.


	9. The Protection Theory

The Protection Theory 

_Date Written:_ 5-19-07  
_Date Uploaded: _5-19-07  
_Last Editing: _5-19-07_  
Rating:_ PG  
_Spoiler Warnings: _Minor for major plotline of the story up to Soul Society…ish.  
_Author: _Lyssa  
_Additional Notes:_ Not really, really fluffy, it's more of a break from my longer one shot coming "Two Months and Four Days." Just a theory I had. Kind of rambling. I had a lot on my mind. Sorry.

.x.x.x.x.

"I'm not a child," he announces, storming into the kitchen.

She marches in right behind him. "I know that, Ichigo! I'm only saying that you're completely irresponsible, utterly oblivious and completely reckless. Kind of _like_ a child."

"So what? The hollow's gone, everybody's happy except you, you crazy little midget!" He doesn't sit down. He twitches with animalistic tension, as if a gazelle is going to run through the kitchen and he's planning on catching it with his teeth. Ichigo has always had that instinct.

"What happens if you end up getting yourself killed?" She's wrinkling her nose like she does when she's annoyed with him.

He pauses a moment before he speaks quieter, as if he's not really referring to the same thing. "You can't protect me, Rukia." He trudges out of the room, leaving the kitchen empty and quiet. The tile feels too cold on her feet.

It takes a few moments in the silence for her to realize. She tries desperately to find an argument, but comes up short. Rukia is forced to actually admit for the first time that he is right.

She can't protect him.

She can't protect him any more than she could protect Kaien. _He died because she couldn't save him._

She can't protect him any more than she could the night they met. _She was forced to give him the power she failed to use._

She can't protect him any more than he could really protect her on the street that night against Renji and Byakuya. _He had fought, but she'd gone anyway. In the end, he nearly killed himself. _

She can't protect him any more than he could protect his mother all those years ago. _The circle of death… all because they were so damn incapable of defending the things that mattered the most to them._

And the truth is, they can't protect each other because they're both too irresponsible and oblivious and reckless. They can't protect each other because they've forgotten how to protect themselves. Because each one would, and had sacrificed everything for the other.

She can't protect him… unless he protects himself. And suddenly she's found a loophole in his theory. And she's more than happy to rub it in his face.

She doesn't knock, but walks right in. He analyzes her for a moment before he lets his irritation show. She sticks her nose in the air. "Don't be foolish, Ichigo. I shouldn't have to protect you. You should be taking care of yourself." And with that, she shuts her closet door behind her, because it's a better exit than walking to her own room.

And the next night, when the phone chirps, she sees him thinking and planning. He fights with the same intensity, but a new sense of calculation. It takes him a few more seconds than usual to take down the simple hollow. He doesn't do it because he thinks it's really going to help. He does it because when they walk home, she is smiling.

She is smiling because, in her own way, she has once again proved Kurosaki Ichigo wrong. They're going to learn how to protect themselves again. Then they can protect each other. The way they couldn't before.

And no matter what it takes, she's _going_ to protect him. And when she feels his fingertips brush hers, just hard enough to be intentional, she knows that, no matter what it takes, he'll do the same for her.


	10. They Shine for You II

They Shine for You II

_Date Written:_ 8-21-07  
_Date Uploaded:  
__Last Editing: _11-01-07  
_Rating:_ PG-13 (little bit suggestive)  
_Series:_ Bleach  
_Spoiler Warnings: _none  
_Author: _Lyssa  
_Additional Notes:_ The amount of time between writing and uploading on some of these are unbelievable... I wrote this months ago, but some are bordering on a year now. Weird.

.x.x.x.x.

"Ichigo, look!" She tore herself away from him.

The young man groaned in frustration. "Rukia, did'ya forget that you have to go back in the morning?"

They got very little time to be together thanks to Soul Society's new workload. She was only back to his bed once or twice a week and he'd be back to complete college in a few short weeks anyway. Ichigo was eager to take advantage of the time. Still, he wasn't quite strong enough to resist the glint in her eyes that told him she was up to something.

He relented. "What is it?"

"Our star." She murmured quietly. She was pointing to the horizon.

"What are you talking about?" He shifted the sheets so he could look out the window.

She slapped his arm gently, as if it was directly related to jogging his memory. "Remember? It's the one we share."

"Rukia, that was years ago." He tried to lie down again. "Tomorrow, Rukia. You're leaving tomorrow."

"I know! Which is exactly why I'm _trying_ to enjoy the stars. So shut up."

"You're the one who's yappin-" He didn't finish the short rant he was about to launch into because she sensed it coming first. And she had found that holding his lips closed with her own was most effective.

He didn't speak even when she broke away. Mostly because he was admiring how beautiful she looked in the light just before dawn.

She was still looking pensively out the window, but the hollow of her shoulder was bare, teasing him. He laid a little kiss there before she turned on him with those perfectly arched eyebrows. He shrugged sheepishly. He never been too interested in human contact before. Then again, he'd never wanted to touch anyone like he wanted to touch Rukia.

To his disappointment, he realized that she was finished, so he sat and looked out the window with her. It might be a while until she saw Karakura again, so he let her enjoy the view.

"It's too small," she murmured softly.

"What is?"

"Our star. It's too small, isn't it? I think we've grown out of it."

He rolled his eyes at her brilliant logic, but nodded. "Sure."

"We need a new one." She turned to him with bright eyes. "What do you think?"

Ichigo thought for a moment, then pointed straight ahead. "That one," he announced simply.

She smiled as he wrapped his arms around her again. "Then that one's ours." And they stayed, watching their star as it rose above the horizon.


	11. The Cat Came Back

The Cat Came Back

_Date Written:_ 06-19-07  
_Date Uploaded: _6-21-08  
_Last Editing: _07-27-07  
_Rating:_ PG-13 for mutual naughtiness, nothing explicit  
_Series:_ Bleach  
Spoiler Warnings: Blink-and-you-miss-it spoilers for the Vizard stuff. If you have no idea what I'm talking about, this can just be totally out of any context.  
_Author_: Izzi (That's right, I went there)  
_Additional Notes_: Written many moons ago, updated now. If you recognize the poem the title is based on, it's an old children's song by Harry S. Miller. It's actually a pretty macabre tale of people trying to get rid of a pet cat, which just won't die. Reminded me of Ichigo. ...I'm evil. More stories probably... tomorrow. I hope.

.x.x.x.x.

He was sore… everywhere. Every inch ached and screamed just to lie down in his own bed. He crept through the front door, undetected by his family. Three a.m. wasn't exactly the height of activity in the Kurosaki household anyway. He grabbed a spoonful of the now cold soup left on the stove from dinner and slunk up the stairs in perfect silence. The door to Yuzu, Karin, and Rukia's bedroom was closed. He hoped that meant that no one would be bothering him.

His bedroom door opened without a sound.

He dropped his clothes on the floor and pulled on loose pajama pants. He began to dig through his drawers for the shirt. It was a thinning t-shirt that was big and worn and entirely his. He was a bit disappointed that it was missing, but the desire for sleep overwhelmed all other senses.

He climbed into his bed, which was already incredibly warm. And incredibly full. He groaned, reaching out to push away what he assumed was a mass of laundry. The laundry groaned in protest in a distinctly husky feminine voice. Come to think of it, the laundry was very warm and very soft and very loudly breathing. He decided not to wake the creature in his bed. Instead, he leaned over to get a better look at its face.

Rukia was breathing softly, the moonlight from the window on her face. And she was wearing his shirt. Was nothing sacred? He thought about giving her the rudest wake-up call of her hundred fifty year old life, but then he reconsidered. What pissed off a stuffy Kuchiki more than anything? ...Embarrassment.

He took just a moment formulating his plan. It was a damn good thing the shinigami slept like a rock because he was relatively sure that the cogs grinding away could have woken a normal human being. He very gingerly slipped back under the covers. Had it not been for the excuse of complete exhaustion, this would have officially been Ichigo's stupidest plan ever.

His arm snaked around her. She purred. For a second, Ichigo paused, the implications of the sound just barely penetrating his consciousness. He grabbed a handful of shirt at the very bottom and growled into her ear a single word. "Mine."

She gave a light grunt, then groggily rolled over slightly. She was obviously as sleepy as he was. She replied simply, "Mmm... yours." She settled into his grasp and seemed to drift back to sleep.

He got close to her again. "I meant the shirt."

Something about the statement clicked, because she bolted dead upright and scrambled to the furthest corner of the bed she could get to. She was practically glowing red in the dark. "I-I-Ichigo! What are you doing here?"

He sat up and looked at her flatly. "This is my house."

"R-Right, but I thought you were... out."

"I was. Now I'm... back." He imitated her pause in a far more sarcastic tone. "And I'd like to sleep in my own bed."

She begrudgingly climbed out, still blushing furiously, and retreated toward the door, only to stop in the middle of the room. She slid open the closet, then closed again. She cleared her throat.

"What?" he groaned, burying his face in his pillow.

"I don't want to wake up your sisters. And the closet is full."

Ichigo, far too tired to argue, pressed himself against the wall to make room. She climbed back in. "Ichigo?"

"I'm tired. I want to sleep." Something warm and light landed on his head. "What is-" A shirt. "Damn."

Rukia smiled as Ichigo blushed furiously. She laid back down and whispered against his back, "It's all yours."


	12. Snow

Snow  
_  
Date Written:_ 06-25-07  
_Date Uploaded: 8_-21-08  
_Last Editing: _07-30-07  
_Rating:_ PG  
_Series:_ Bleach  
_Spoiler Warnings_: Just Sode no Shirayuki, if you want to call it a spoiler.  
_Author_: April  
_Additional Notes_: Ichigo can talk to Zangetsu, so what if Rukia could do the same with her sword?

.x.x.x.x.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Inside of herself, she sees the vast, pure plains of snow. She sees the naked trees, encased in crystal prisons. She sees the flawless, flat ice, and the perfection of an untouchable world. Nothing has grown here in nearly a hundred years. She has not allowed it. Because to compromise this clean world would be to surrender everything she'd ever known.

She isn't sure why she is here, but she knows she has to be. It is an urge, a pull, a call. And she knows who is calling her to this place. She feels every pulse of her zanpakuto. Sode no Shirayuki is displeased. She has a feeling she knows why.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

There she is, ruler of this domain. A queen in all her solitude and glory. Rukia knows that the pun is probably best apt to describe her relationship with this mysterious and beautiful being: she'll have to tread on thin ice. Shirayuki's nature is not as excitable as her own, but she expects that they'll be working together for a long time to come, so she'd rather keep on good terms. If such a thing exists to the icy queen.

"I don't understand." And yet Shirayuki sounds so sure, just as she always does. It is a voice Rukia is familiar with. She has always admired her partner's certainty, mostly because it is one trait she feels she lacks.

"I can't say I understand very much, either." Rukia sits on a fallen tree and the woman in white delicately alights beside her, hands folded so gently. "Though I have a few ideas."

Shirayuki does not sigh. She shows little emotion at all, but Rukia notices her left hand tightens ever so slightly on her right. "It is the boy."

Rukia doesn't answer right away. She isn't sure whether that is the case, or if it's even very wise to tell Shirayuki. If she thought it was strictly her own business, she wouldn't. But the truth of the matter is, it is very much Shirayuki's business.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

"Yes. I think it's Ichigo."

"Yesterday..."

Ah, yesterday. She was sure the sun had burned so bright in her heart that Shirayuki's home was probably flooding. The ice was melting away so she could finally really feel again.

_"Ichigo... What... What are you doing?"_

_"Shut up and hold still." _

The sun flares a little brighter at the memory and Shirayuki looks at her, maybe annoyed. But Rukia's fingers are busy grazing her lips, which are still maintaining the feel and taste of his pressed against them.

Why shouldn't they kiss? Why shouldn't he hold her? It had been long enough. She had waited in this frozen wilderness for such a long time, praying to be loved. But Shirayuki...

"Is this snow really so precious to you?"

Shirayuki does not answer immediately. Instead, she gazes around the cold world with dark eyes. Things are becoming slushy here and there, and beneath some of the sparkling planes of ice, rivulets of water have begun to flow towards low ground.

"Is this boy really so precious to you?"

Rukia thinks about it. Shirayuki would never appreciate a compulsive answer. So she really thinks. Is he precious to you? His scowl, his voice, his hands, his heart... "Yes."

Shirayuki nods. "I see. It is your heart, Rukia. Do as you please with it."

"But... you live here too." Rukia rises from a sit to really examine the woman in white. Shirayuki rolls over the log they had been sitting on to reveal a few plants and roots which have been growing in the bog below. She makes a sound of resignation.

"I suppose I have had this place to myself for long enough. But you had better be consistent this time. I dislike the seasons' change."

Rukia smiles. "This time, I'm sure."

Shirayuki looks over the snow hills once more, where soon she is sure will grow trees and bushes and wildflowers. A white rabbit bounds through the snow.

"_That_ however, will not be acceptable."

"Oh come on, Shirayuki-san. Everybody loves Chappy."


	13. Sometimes

**Sometimes**

_Date Written:_ 2-16-08  
_Date Uploaded: 8_-21-08  
_Last Editing: _2-17-08  
_Rating:_ PG  
_Spoiler Warnings: _None  
_Author: _Lyssa  
_Additional Notes:_ Roughly based on a poem I transcribed a while back for a friend to his girlfriend, which he entitled "Every Time". He was so sweet, the sugar spilled over and I wrote... this. Tada. It's supposed to be "prosetry," not really a poem... but look out, because the parallel structure might make you queasy.

.x.x.x.x.

He feels the urge to tear her apart sometimes.  
He wants to scream at her, hit her, hold her by force sometimes.  
Sometimes he wishes it would make a difference if he begged.  
He gets that odd tingly urge to cry behind his eyes sometimes.  
Sometimes he is furious with her and he can't justify why.  
Those sometimes are when she leaves.

He thinks he would hate her completely if he didn't love her so damn much.

He feels inexplicably, wonderfully warm sometimes.  
He wants to hold that feeling like a million excitable butterflies are caged in his stomach.  
Sometimes he wishes time would stop just so he would never have to be apart from her again.  
He gets the idea he's found everything he's ever wanted in her eyes sometimes.  
Sometimes he feels like she's his anchor, holding him to all the good things in the world.  
Those sometimes are when she is close to him.

He thinks she knows how much she means to him.

He feels her pain, and he hurts for her sometimes.  
He wants to believe that his heart is his own, but he knows that's wrong sometimes.  
Sometimes he wishes he could bear more of her load.  
He gets the impression his whole world is falling down all because of her sometimes.  
Sometimes he prays holding her is enough to make her feel whole, even though it isn't.  
Those sometimes are when she cries.

He thinks it's adorable that a stuffed bunny and a kiss make the tears go away.

He feels completely happy sometimes.  
He wants to record the smile in her voice just so he can hear it over and over sometimes.  
Sometimes he wishes she'd say it more often.  
He gets more sentimental over a few words that he probably should sometimes  
Sometimes he can't believe how lucky he is.  
Those sometimes are when she says "I love you."

He thinks he always, always, always replies, "I love you, too."

He feels dark and cold sometimes.  
He wants to tell her it's all right, even though he's not sure if it ever will be sometimes.  
Sometimes he wishes she would forgive herself.  
He gets angry at a man he has never met sometimes.  
Sometimes he feels far away when she is at arm's length.  
Those sometimes are when she thinks about _him_.

He thinks he'd love her no matter what she did in the past.

He feels his world is whole at last sometimes.  
He wants to keep her close forever sometimes.  
Sometimes he wishes that was possible.  
He gets the feeling she wants the same thing sometimes.  
Sometimes he loves her so much it hurts.  
Those sometimes are every time. Every year, every month, every week, every day, every hour, every minute, every second.

He thinks those sometimes are when he loves her the most.


	14. Absolutely, Completely, Hopelessly

Absolutely, Completely, Hopelessly 

_Date Written:_ 7-25-06  
_Date Uploaded: _8-23-08  
_Last Editing: 7-25-06  
__Rating:_ PG  
_Series:_ Bleach  
_Spoiler Warnings:_ post ep. 19 (ch. I have no idea…) The timeline here is shot to hell. Sorry.  
_Author:_ Izzi  
_Additional Notes: _I can't say I completely understand the dynamic between Ichigo and his hollow-thingy (I wasn't paying close enough attention to important chapters- I guess if Rukia's not around, I get restless)… Anyway, here it is in all its kind of messed up, sort of OOC glory.  
This was actually the first drabble to be written for CSS, but until now it wasn't deemed good enough to post. We're desperate.

.x.x.x.x.

He could see her. She was curled up in the closet. Rukia had fallen asleep early and forgotten to close the door. He knew he should get up to close it himself for privacy's sake, but he couldn't bring himself. He was finally warm in his bed, and he'd be damned if she was going to change that. Of course… it was nice to have her back there. It almost felt… normal.

Sometimes at night, when he was just about to slip from consciousness, he could hear the voice. It was harsh, insistent and impatient, demanding to be heard. It was his voice. He'd convinced himself that it was the hollow. That _thing_ had somehow infiltrated his mind this far, both a part of him and a separate, living entity unto itself. He wished it wasn't there. He wished that it would get out of him.

But somewhere along the line of rationality, it had to occur that maybe it was just him… Maybe his subconscious was working in overdrive since she came back. Maybe it knew something he didn't.

Either way it was a pain in the ass. Tonight in particular.

"You're completely brainless." It hissed dangerously.

"What are you talking about? I just want to go to sleep…" His response was to roll over, as if it would block out the voice inside his own head.

"You haven't even realized." It laughed coolly.

"Realized what?"

"You haven't realized about her…"

"Her who? …Rukia?" Of course, hers was the first name that came to mind. Coincidence.

"You're absolutely, madly in love with her." It sneered. "And your stupid emotions are getting in my way."

"What?!" The very thought made him draw back. "She's obnoxious and bossy and annoying…"

"And she taught you everything you know about being a shinigami. She's saved your ass more times than you can count to, Kurosaki. But that's not saying much."

"She hangs around too much…"

"She _lives _in your _closet_!"

"Where else am I supposed to send her?"

"Inoue's, Urahara's… with Renji." There was a smile to the final name, as if it knew what was coming.

"Yeah right, like I would…" He rolled his eyes, catching the trap a moment too late. "… she… she… she makes everything more complicated!"

"You're completely crazy about her. Now quit the act."

"Shut the hell up. I think I would know." He huffed one more time and rolled over again.

"Ichigo?" His eyes snapped open again. He could barely see her in the dark, but she was stirring. "What's going on?" The notes of sleepiness clung to her voice, the syllables dragging.

"Hmph." He grunted in response, but felt a prick of guilt a second later. His voice softened. "It's nothing. Go back to sleep, Rukia." She complied easily.

The voice picked up again. "You're the only one who doesn't see it."

He was silent. He didn't close his eyes again. All he could do was lay there and think.

He cared about her, sure… he was willing to admit it. She was his friend and he surely accumulated a debt to her over the time they'd spent together. She was a good person, despite her flaws. She was smart, loyal, and she'd risked her life for him more than he probably deserved. If not for her, he wouldn't have his family, his powers, or his life...

He decided to watch her carefully, just for a moment, just because she made the voice go away. She was asleep already. He could see the gentle rise and fall of her shoulder as she breathed. Her black hair was like silk in the moonlight. Her face was peaceful, an almost smile turning up the corners of her lips. It made something between his chest and stomach tighten snugly.

"You're hopelessly in love."

He carefully removed the blankets and silently covered the distance between them. She didn't move as he stood in front of her, but the displaced air blew a rebellious strand of hair into her face. Her nose twitched. A nearly imperceptible smile covertly made its way onto his lips. He could barely feel his hand as it rose and brushed away the strands. She sighed contently. His insides tightened again.

He stood back a step. "Shit…" In the single instant he realized… he really was absolutely, completely, hopelessly... What a bitch... making him fall in love like that. The voice in his head went silent as he crawled into bed with a smile.


	15. Waiting for Eternity

Waiting for Eternity

_Date Written:_ 2-03-07  
_Date Uploaded: _8-25-08  
_Last Editing: _8-25-08  
_Rating:_ PG  
_Series:_ Bleach  
_Spoiler Warnings:_ None  
_Author:_ April and Isabella  
_Additional Notes: _IchiHime fans, this may be borderline offensive to you, but it's honest to god the way I think it would work if they ever did get together. She just can't handle the boy... You can say that there are no true pairings, which would be fine and all, except who wants to see Ichi all alone when the series ends? Not me. So from every angle, I can only think that either he'll end up with a guy or Rukia (close enough). And considering that I just adore Rukia (you couldn't tell?), I'm pulling for her. Now if only Kubo Tite was too... TT Also, the man mentioned below can really be anyone you want it to be. I imagined Ishida, but you're welcome to draw your own conclusions.

.x.x.x.

She looked at him sadly over her book. The rocking chair legs squeaked every few minutes.

He looked so fragile. Her warrior, her savior was gone… and yet, his eyes burned with that fire. She knew, if he could escape his body now, he would be just as strong, just as fierce.

But that wasn't going to happen.

His mod-soul was gone to who knew where. He'd disappeared shortly after the destruction of Hueco Mundo. Hollow attacks were controlled by the security system installed by Soul Society before they had abandoned this world. That was near fifty years ago. Fifty years since he had seen the dark-haired shinigami woman who had stolen his heart and run home with it.

In fifty years, Kurosaki Ichigo had aged one hundred.

She didn't fool herself. She was back-up. He married her because if he hadn't, the heart-rending grief over losing the woman he truly loved would have devoured him. He married her because it was what _she_ always wanted and he'd always tried to give her what she wanted.

As she glanced over at him, she couldn't help but notice the little smile he wore.

Damn that man. He knew what was coming… he knew and he was looking forward to it. Looking forward to leaving her… when she'd given him so much. Her whole heart. She still loved him even now.

"Orihime…" he said her name so carefully, it seemed as if it would break. She couldn't help it. She sniffled. "Don't cry." That was an order. He looked at her with that almost permanent scowl made by the wrinkles formed by his default face.

She stepped over to the bedside. "Ichigo… I… love you."

He looked at her calmly. "I love you too." He wasn't lying. But love… as he called it, was not the kind she wanted. They were each other's conveniences. She wanted to fall in love with a hero, to be his damsel in distress, to some degree… he wanted to fill the void in his heart, even if he filled it with meaningless vows and empty words and a deep friendship posing as romance.

She'd let go of a man she loved long ago, as well. She'd watched him, white skin staining slowly in red as he died. She'd held his hand, whispered his name. But she'd been too late. She hadn't known how to use her powers the right way. She'd tried and failed. He was the casualty that changed how Soul Society dealt with their enemies. No more noble swords. No more risks. The name of the game became mercilessly crushing any enemy who dared oppose them.

Orihime cried softly. Her husband smiled serenely.

The woman's senses had been dulled by age and disuse, but she still felt the change in the air, smelled the calm of cold, clean snow and death. Ichigo was in better shape. He was looking at the woman in black.

As usual, Rukia did most of the talking. They made a brief exchange that Orihime did not care to listen to. But in the end, Ichigo had that cocky grin on his face and more life than she'd seen in years.

"Shut up! What the hell do you know?"

"..."

"Bitch."

She wanted to hate Rukia for being able to do that, but she had missed the look shining in his eyes so much that she was only grateful. Ichigo had never given her that challenging look. He'd always been far too gentle with her. She liked that fire... but she had never been the one to spark that.

She felt a tickle at the base of her skull. "Inoue-san…" That voice… rich and wise, soft but strong. She had not heard that voice in fifty long years. She was surprised to feel as though she had missed it. They had been friends, she reminded herself. No... they _were _friends.

"Rukia." She answered the other woman warmly. Oddly enough, the energy around her seemed to draw closer, enveloping her in two warm, circling arms.

She could hear a smile in the death god's voice, but could barely see it. "He says hello."

The feelings were beginning to come back, along with a quickening pace in her chest. She felt tears in her eyes, but she could only bark out a laugh in response. "Be well, my friend." Then the presence was no longer beside her.

The soul-reaper was standing by Ichigo's bed.

"Time to go," she whispered fragilely. Rukia seemed somehow more refined than usual, withdrawn and apologetic.

He looked at the beautiful woman still sitting in her rocking chair. And he smiled. For the first time in fifty years, he truly smiled. Because he was going home. And she knew she wouldn't be too long behind him.

In a blink, they both were gone. Orihime did not cry. In fact, she smiled. Ichigo had the rest of eternity to be happy and she, at last, had the choice, too. And now she knew, with an undeniable warmth in her chest...

...there was someone waiting for her too.


	16. To Bell a Cat

To Bell a Cat  
_Date Written_: 4-22-08  
_Date Uploaded_: 11-12-08  
_Last Editing_: 4-26-08  
_Rating_: G  
_Spoiler Warnings_: None  
_Author_: Lyssa  
_Additional Notes_: April is a meanie (see previous chapter). I apologize for her. You have to understand though - she's hardcore. We estimate she owns up to 24 percent emotional stock in the pairing. CSS is kind of more to feed our inane fangirl love for Rukia than the fluff. All three of us are messed up, admit it, girls. I just had to upload something though... it's been too long.

We did sort of apply the same metaphor to Ichigo, but try to ignore our weird running feline fetish. It still works.

.x.x.x.x.

No bells on her collar, a silent predator, skulking, creeping, leaping upwards, and always, always, _always_ landing on her feet. Bathed in black, with skin like the moon, hair soft as silken fur, eyes sharp as lanterns in the dark, footfalls light, treading carefully. Ever alone, and ever silent, she stalked her prey.

The way she glided, stalked, balanced on rooftops with sure toes, reminiscent of a feline. A phantom in the night, unseen by human eyes unaccustomed to the darkness.

And when she pounced, it was with claws like steel talons, swooping down from the heavens and tearing into the enemy. Silent still, she would clean her paws and continue back beneath the cover of shadow. Her world was a sure routine. Each night: stalk, kill, return home.

Until that one night. She had not landed on her feet. Lucky she had those nine lives, or it surely would have been her last night. Or was it... lucky she had him? And since, nothing had been the same.

The fearsome, lonesome beauty had realized that she was none of those things. In fact, she discovered she was nothing more than a stray who had been brushed up to look pretty. She was a feral fed from a silver spoon.

More importantly, she came to realize that the truth was, here, in his world, she was no longer a vagabond. She was home. And that frightened her.

So she hissed and spit and scratched to keep him far enough away that he couldn't pet her pretty fur and he couldn't hear her purr when he complimented her. And for a little while, he thought that was who she was. But he saw past the hissing and howling, because that was who he was. He saw to who she truly was and to who she wanted to be.

She waited for the day when she'd be swept up into familiar and yet unloving arms and carried back "home." And she knew they'd never understand that her home was with him. And of course, that day came, but he'd known the truth, he'd broken her cage, and he'd welcomed her to come and go as she pleased.

And when the cat did come back to him, he welcomed her.

She continued her duty... to stalk, to kill, to return home, but she was not alone. Now when she walked, she was followed by a chorus of bickering and stomping and occasional conversation. And so she was no longer silent, and so her prey often knew she was coming. Her claws were just as sharp, and her eyes were just as fierce, but now, she had someone to watch her back.

The cat was belled. But oddly enough, she didn't really mind.


	17. Smells

Smells  
_Date Written:_ 10-24-07  
_Date Uploaded: _11-12-08  
_Last Editing: _8-20-08  
_Rating:_ PG-13ish just for a little bit of weirdness in content, nothing explicit.  
_Series:_ Bleach  
_Spoiler Warnings:_ None  
_Author:_ Lyssa  
_Additional Notes: _This is such crap. I'm sorry, girls... I've been trying. Anyway, this is made up of three mini-ficlettes. I wasn't sure, but I decided to upload them together. Enjoy.

.x.x.x.

**His**

Most people would find it strange. Even she admitted to feeling slightly guilty afterward. But she couldn't help it. It wasn't something dirty or intentionally obsessive. It was just... natural to her because it was natural to him.

He smelled so good… Like a million different things at once. Like blood and sweat and some kind of musky shampoo or something… She could never put a finger on it. But so good.

The closet was a vast desert of living space for such a small shinigami. Only his bed seemed really cozy. Maybe it was the way that the covers laid messily tangled with the sheets so she could see the position he'd slept in. As she slowly soaked in the deep, masculine smell that made her purr, she thanked everyone she could think of that he had not changed the sheets. Laundry smell was not Ichigo's smell. And the stray orange hairs on his pillow were welcome to stay.

It was strange, the distinct scent was not nearly as powerful on him, but this bed, by all accounts, reeked. And she would have been happy to lay there for all eternity. "I'm home," he announced from downstairs.

All good things must come to an end. Up onto dainty bare feet, a spring into the closet. She silently slid the door closed behind her. The smell stayed outside.

She pretended to fall asleep early. When she heard his heavy feet rhythmically tap into the room, she laid down. For a few hours, there was silence but for the scratching of pen on paper. Not a single alert from the phone. No holler from his father. No major disasters. Rukia listened to the quiet sounds he made. Finally, he closed the last homework book and reported directly to his bed. But as his head hit the pillow…

**Hers**

"Rukia, have you been in my bed again?"

Inside the closet, she flinched.

After he had delivered a sufficient rant, complete with her return commentary, he went back to bed. All of a sudden, it was different. He had noticed that it didn't smell like him anymore. Unfortunately for Rukia, he had realized that now, it smelled like her.

He tried briefly to shut it out, to no avail. It seeped in around him. It was warm and smelled suspiciously of strawberry flavoring, salty, sweet and… was that eggs? No one said Rukia smelled typical. What about her _was_ typical?

In the beginning, that smell had bothered him. Now, it only bothered him that he was beginning to enjoy it. It was different, certainly not like a boy's smell, but not quite like a normal girl's. She didn't spray on perfumes or use fancy soap to cover up what was naturally hers. Apart from the strawberries, she smelled strictly like herself… like Rukia.

He preferred it. Better than smelling like 'Roses in April Rain' or whatever other crap those girls at school coated themselves with that made his head hurt when they got too close.

It was only hers, and he liked that he could recognize her by scent alone. In the dark, Ichigo inhaled deeply. It just wasn't as good as the original.

The closet door snapped open. "Ah-ha!" she announced triumphantly. "You're smelling me!"

**Theirs**

"What are you talking about, moron? Go back to bed." He rolled over, fiercely wishing that something, anything would distract her. Maybe a comet could race down from space and annihilate the house. And how about those damned hollows? Never around when he needed them!

"I will do no such thing!"

"Rukia…"

"You. Were. Sniffing," she accused in her best soap opera voice, as if she was accusing him of being her late lover's evil twin brother who was trying to steal her baby to run away to France and join the circus. "You were sniffing."

"Only because you made my bed stink and I'm tryin' to figure out exactly what it is you've been rolling in!" he returned angrily.

Rukia had adopted her famous 'innocent victim' expression. "Just what are you saying?" The conversation took a decidedly different tone. Rukia had gleefully chopped nearly every escape path he had. Start a huge fight right before bed or fess up? Ichigo chose...

neither. He did, however, opt to proceed… with extreme caution. "You smell like… strawberries. I hate strawberry…" he mumbled half to himself. "Now my bed smells like… you."

He failed to mention whether that was a good thing or a bad thing.

"And this whole room stinks like you!" she accused.

"That's because it's _my_ room!"

"Ugh… you are infuriating!"

"Whatever."

"Fine!"

The light flicked off again, but in the dark there were a few sniffs and satisfied sighs. Then, only the hush of night.


	18. Strawberry Shampoo

Strawberry Shampoo

_Date Written:_ 3-14-07_  
Date Uploaded:_ 8-02-09_  
Last Editing:_ 8-02-09_  
Rating:_ G_  
Spoiler Warnings: _Just that there _is_ a post SS-arc._  
Author: _April (and Lyssa)_  
Additional Notes:_ This I owe entirely to a shower I was taking the other day. I got new shampoo and it smells like strawberries. Since I had nothing better to do, I pondered a while on strawberry shampoo. Here is the result.  
The setting is an Americanized bathroom. Suspension of disbelief and poetic license and all that crap...

.x.x.x.x.

Almost from the beginning, I had followed her to the bathroom for her shower. At first, she was a pain in the ass about it. "No, Ichigo. I think I can work one of these 'shower' things by myself now." I'd have to explain to her that if my family ever heard the shower so late at night, at least one very curious old pervert would probably barge in on her. Considering that neither of us wanted that, she stopped complaining.

When she finally came back from Soul Society, I felt the urge to continue the ritual, just to try to get things back to normal. She was so quiet for so long… It seemed to work. She'd started the bickering again and with each hot shower, she'd loosen up a little more.

Even if she was welcome in the house now, there was something about that time, just a little after eleven, that belonged to us. I stayed outside the door. Every night. For my sake more than hers.

One night, she called me in. No towels.

One delivery later, I was back in there, and to this day I couldn't tell you why, but I stayed.

Rukia didn't complain at the intrusion, so I began to sit on the floor once she'd stepped into the shower. It never felt like a big deal. I was sick of waiting outside and she'd never admit to it, but she was lonely inside. We just weren't like... _that_.

I never did much on these nights. I'd sit on the floor and think about my family, my friends, even her. We never spoke. That was a rule.

We were both in a tiny bathroom at the same time, and that was all there was to it.

I'd watch the steam pour out from the top of the shower curtain. I'd bask in the smell of that sweet strawberry shampoo she wore (she'd gotten it to tease me, but it smelled so good on her, it wasn't the kind of teasing she'd intended.) Mostly, I'd wait for the single second that would inevitably ruin these quiet moments.

It happened without fail. Every night, ten minutes after she'd stepped in, the steam would stop. The water would run cold. I was only foolish enough to stay after that on the first night. I wouldn't have known if I hadn't been listening so carefully. It might have just been the water striking the shower floor.

I didn't know why she cried, but then, there was a lot I didn't know about her.

After that, once the water turned cold, I would leave. Once the water turned cold, it was no longer my Rukia in there. It was the girl she was long ago, filled with regret and grief and self-loathing. And the smell of fresh strawberries just wasn't the same.

I guess it might have been selfish, but I hated being there when she wasn't the strong woman I knew. I wanted the Rukia I'd grown to love. I just denied the other existed.

Maybe I didn't want to know what made her cry. Maybe there was a part of Kuchiki Rukia that I was afraid of knowing. Maybe it had more to do with me than it did with her.

I didn't want her to break that last paper-thin wall between what we were and what we would be.

I didn't want to know what made her cry... because I'd have to tell her what made me cry.

This particular night, my concentration on the strawberries was broken when I felt the familiar cold. I stood up to leave.

"Wait, Ichigo." It was the first time she'd ever even acknowledged that I was there. She had broken the rules.

I wasn't sure why I asked. It just seemed to pop out. I didn't want to know, but I wanted to help her. Saving Rukia made me feel needed, as much as she hated it. She'd never mention the number of times she'd saved me. So the question was born of the best of intentions.

"Rukia, why do you cry?" It seemed so simple, so juvenile. I half expected her to be angry.

She wasn't.

The steam makes my memory fuzzy... I only recall that we ended up back in my room, sitting on the floor, and that the first word she said was my name.

She broke down and told me the whole story. From her life with Renji to Byakuya and Shiba Kaien, every detail of importance up to the moment we met. This time, she did not cry.

I remember that she never once looked at me, just barreled along in the voice she used when she didn't want me to interrupt.

I remember that when she was done, she looked... not happy. That wasn't the word. More like... relieved.

I remember that when she leaned against me, utterly exhausted, her hair smelled like strawberries.


	19. Stuck

Stuck

_Date Written:_ 8-27-08_  
Date Uploaded: _8-02-09_  
Last Editing: _8-02-09_  
Rating: _PG_  
Series:_ Bleach_  
Spoiler Warnings: _None_  
Author: _Izzi_  
Additional Notes: _And the rim shots just keep on coming. Inspired by another somewhat similar piece I wrote for our Christmas collection, called "A Very Rukia Christmas." Hehe. Look forward to that one.

.x.x.x.x.

Ichigo stared over his book at her. "Don't you have... I don't know... _anything_ to do? Homework?"

She looked up from a manga, cocking an eyebrow at him as if he was the stupidest creature on the planet. "Yes, Ichigo. After one hundred and fifty years and intensive training, I have no idea how to do basic algebra. What do you think?"

"Then do _mine_."

"That would defeat the purpose. You're learning. I'm... _reviewing._"

"Reviewing, my ass," he grumbled into his book.

"That sounds highly unpleasant."

She walked around the room for a while, messing up shelves and scribbling drawings on his notebook paper. Rukia was a curious creature, and, whether he liked it or not, he was stuck with her.

"Sit down and do something useful!" he snapped at her.

"Like what?"

"I don't know... touch your nose with your tongue. Lick your elbow. Whatever."

"Ichigo, I think you're fixating on my tongue."

"Just shut up and do something," he growled. There. That should keep her occupied. And hopefully quiet.

So she did... something. And whatever it was she was doing, it was quiet, so he couldn't have cared less.

He was nearly finished when he looked over at her again. She was crossing her eyes and had (rather impressively) managed to touch her nose with the tip of her tongue.

"Ah di ih!" she exclaimed, tongue still stuck out.

"What?"

"I did it. One more thing that I have surpassed you in!"

"Who says I can't-"

Ichigo had a rather devious thought. He recalled the last time he'd told her one of his mother's old mantras. She'd gone on a two week rampage, secretly eating vegetables in an attempt to grow. When he'd broken it to her that it was just a saying to get him to eat his vegetables when he was young, she'd nearly broken his arm. But it had been worth the two weeks of Rukia's obsessive compulsions. She was cute when she freaked out.

He put down his book and turned in his chair, looking thoughtful. "You know, Rukia. If you make a face like that too long, it'll get stuck that way."

She looked perplexed by this, but she didn't say anything. Now that was a useful piece of information...

...

Ichigo was still wondering if there was some kind of weird shinigami gene that gave them freaky tongues that could touch their noses. She could do it. So who said he couldn't?

After all, he had managed that whole shinigami business, hadn't he? Anything she could do, he could do better. So he stuck out his tongue and-

"Bakudo number 1: Sai!"

Oh. He knew that one.

And suddenly, he was stuck staring at his tongue, poised to touch his nose.

"My," Rukia chided as she jumped out from the closet. "If you make a stupid face too long, it'll get stuck that way." She sounded far too pleased with herself for knocking him down a peg. "Sorry to say, Ichigo, but you're stuck with me... and it would seem that now you're stuck with that, too."

He may have yelled something insulting, but she was too busy walking away. Tomorrow, she was going to try to lick her elbow. Surely, the results would be hilarious.


End file.
